


Dangling Conversation

by loupgarou1750 (LoupGarou)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Community: snarry_games, M/M, Mental Illness, Snarry Games, attempted suicide, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-19
Updated: 2006-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:32:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoupGarou/pseuds/loupgarou1750
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has one promise to keep before his war ends: to make Snape pay for Dumbledore's murder</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangling Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the inaugural Snarry ~~Olympics~~Games, for Team**Angst**

  


* * *

  
The river's sluggish waters had taken on the oily red aspect of blood. Never a confident swimmer, Harry Potter stood well back from the bank's edge. The sky was clear at the moment and the crimson streaks on the horizon gave promise of a clear morning, but it had been raining for the better part of three weeks and the river was high; he could see a huge portion of the strand had recently crumbled into the water. Everything he wore and carried was already wet enough without taking an unscheduled dip.

He had arrived too late for a successful reconnaissance; it would have to wait for morning. One more night of sleeping rough couldn't make him any more miserable than he had been for days. He hefted his rucksack to his shoulder and moved under the trees; it would be at least marginally drier. He stumbled over something and stopped to look. It was an animal skull. It might have been a small dog or, he thought, more likely a fox. Picking it up, he turned it over in his hands.

'What happened to you, little guy? No matter. You're probably better off this way.' Harry set the head down near his bedroll and fumbled around in his pack, finally pulling out a stub of candle which he lit with his wand. Tilting the candle, he let a pool of wax form on the skull and planted the candle firmly. 'Thanks. You're a big help.' Wrapping himself up as best he could he lay down and watched the tiny flickering light for awhile before closing his eyes and drifting off.

The morning was as bright as promised by the previous night's red sky. Harry groaned as his cold muscles resisted uncurling, and he slowly stretched, ligaments and bones popping and snapping into place. He grinned at the fox skull and patted it before rolling to his knees and standing up. His stomach rumbled and he scrounged an apple and a small loaf from his pack. He would've killed for a cuppa but that would have to wait for another day; there was plenty of wood around but it was too sodden to make a fire with. Perhaps the opportunity would arise when he reached his goal. Digging a small hole in the ground with the heel of his shoe, he patted the fox skull again and carefully placed it within, covering it over with dirt and leaves. 'Best I can do. Rest in peace, B'rer Fox.' He consulted his map and, munching the apple, turned north along the road.

As he walked, Harry replayed his last evening at Order headquarters. Everyone had tried to talk him out of this mission.

'It's best to let sleeping dogs lie, Potter,' Moody had said. 'This particular serpent has no venom left.'

'...acting on Albus's orders,' said Professor McGonagall.

'Forget vengeance, Harry,' from Hermione.

From Ron, nothing but black looks and mistrust. Ron alone seemed to see through Harry's mask of innocence to the murderous rage beneath but, so often wrong about Harry's motives in the past, he kept his mouth shut.

'You're all acting as if I were going to assassinate him, but all I want is for him to stand trial along with the other Death Eaters!' Harry had said, willing them to believe his story. But he had no intention of bringing Severus Snape back for trial. Alone among the Order, he had witnessed Dumbledore's murder and he had sworn he would make Snape pay.

It was information from Mad-Eye Moody that brought him to his present location; a small, nearly dead mill town in North Yorkshire. Not believing Snape would return to a known residence and thinking he'd want to stay close enough to Hogwarts to keep an ear out for news, Harry had originally ignored Moody's advice and stubbornly began his search in Scotland, travelling the whole of the country from the Orkney Islands to Isle of Whithorn. He never even caught a whisper of Snape. A similar trudge through the length and breadth of England had brought the same results. He'd only momentarily contemplated a search of Ireland before at last grudgingly admitting to himself that Moody may have been right. He'd turned back to Yorkshire, to see if Snape had indeed taken refuge in the house at Spinner's End.

  


* * *

  
The row of detached brick homes looked long abandoned. Harry had never bothered to wonder where Snape lived when he wasn't at Hogwarts, but if he had, he wouldn't have imagined this blighted place with its abandoned dwellings, boarded windows, and tall stacks no longer billowing smoke or steam. It seemed likely it was a victim of mass redundancy and there were no hopeful signs of the town ever being resurrected. He glanced at the scrap of paper in his hand, turning around in the street, straining to see house numbers before heading tentatively to the last one on the block, no larger than the rest and just as decrepit. Was this Snape's family home? Harry could imagine no other reason for him to own property in this grim Muggle town.

Harry stood on the footpath and looked beyond a ramshackle wall into the overgrown garden. Although the house was no bigger than the rest lining the street, the grounds were much larger, perhaps because it was at the end of the row. Pushing open a low gate that dangled precariously off its hinges, he entered the yard and slowly began to walk around the perimeter of the house. Everything was now a mess of weeds and litter but two tall plane trees, the remnants of planting beds and an herbaceous border indicated a garden that had once been well-loved. Again Harry thought this must be Snape's family home. He could not imagine the grim Potions master ever having planted such an ambitious and impractical garden; the naturalised plants spoke more of ornamentation than usefulness. No more could he imagine Snape's father, that cold and bitter man he'd seen in Snape's memories, giving loving attention to anything as beautiful as plants. It must have been Eileen Snape, nee Prince, who had once laboured so carefully. Looking at the lapsed garden made Harry feel unaccountably sad.

Having completed his circle of the house he walked hesitantly up the path to the front door, every sense intent on recognizing signs of current habitation. The dried remnants of a climbing banksia rose arched over the doorway. It looked as if he had been right and the others wrong. The house was dark and silent. A dusty and unoccupied spider web threaded itself across the front entry; that at least indicated no one had come or gone for several days.

Harry tried the door and found it unlocked. He wondered what that said about the house's occupant, or lack of one. Pushing it open, he winced as it creaked loudly and froze, waiting for some sign that he had been heard, but there was nothing. It occurred to him to leave then, to abandon his search and return to Hogwarts, but, curious about the house and Snape's life in it, he entered and quietly began to explore.

He had to use his wand for illumination. He'd entered into a small sitting room. Most of the windows were obscured by moth-eaten but still heavy drapes and those that weren't were obscured by years of accumulated grime. Wall-to-wall overflowing bookcases seemed to add to the heavy gloom. He moved from room to room, taking in the thick layers of undisturbed dust, old worn furniture that looked less like antiques than antiquities, a candle-less candelabra, empty sconces, and a complete lack of the kind of personal artefacts that said someone lived here. _This is pointless_, Harry thought. _No one has been here in years. _

Finding nothing of particular interest in any of the other rooms, Harry returned to the sitting room and gazed around. It took a moment to work out why he was vaguely disturbed by a row of book cases until he realised the corner of one was not even with the corner of the next. He walked over to examine it and discovered a gap. Pushing his hand into it, he closed it around the back edge of the out of alignment bookcase and pulled. Although he'd half been expecting it, Harry stepped back in surprise as, on its own, the case swung open, revealing a dark and dank stairwell. It was like the tents at the Quidditch World Cup; the inside of the house appeared to be larger than the outside. His wand thrust in front of him, he began to climb the stairs leading to the upper level.

At the top of the stairs was a long corridor with doors leading off on either side. Putting his hand carefully on the knob, he opened the first door onto a large room that must have once been a nursery. A dilapidated cradle, a child-sized bed, and a scattering of broken toys and battered picture books gave mute testimony to the long ago presence of a child. Along the far wall was a long bank of windows. Once upon a time, this would have been a very pleasant, sun-filled room. Now it was just a pathetic reminder of better days. At the end of the adjoining wall there was a door that opened onto a small, bare room containing a narrow bed and scarred bureau; this must've once been quarters for a nanny or governess. Harry spied a dark shape beneath the bed and stretched his hand under, coming up with a tattered stuffed lion. One eye was gone and the other hung dangling by a thread. Large patches of fur had been rubbed away. He smiled sadly, imagining Snape as a little boy, clutching a lion, of all things, to his chest. Harry was surprised at the spark of warmth he felt towards young Master Snape and pushed the feeling away. Likely the lion hadn't even been Snape's. Harry wondered if the man had siblings.

He set the bedraggled lion on the bed and slowly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. A last look around the nursery convinced him there was nothing of importance to see and he left this room as well. He followed a long, windowless corridor, opening doors along his path and looking into what appeared to be a dressing room between two bedrooms.

He came to the last door at the end of the hall and pushed it open, expecting nothing. Whereas the beds in the other rooms had been stripped bare or neatly made up, the one in this room was rumpled. A long, narrow lump occupied the middle of it. It took Harry a moment to realise the lump wasn't just a lump, that the single sheet covering it was moving up and down. It took another moment to register the meaning; someone was in the bed, the up and down was the rise and fall of someone's chest as they breathed! He wasn't alone after all.

He silently edged closer to the bed and threw back the sheet, expecting to see some tramp that had taken shelter in the long abandoned house. He inhaled sharply with surprise as his eyes took in the identity of the bed's occupant.

It was Snape, but not the Snape he remembered. This Snape was clearly ill, possibly near death. The hair was longer and even more lank and greasy than usual, the sunken cheeks dark with unkempt beard. He was the washed-out colour of something that lived under a rock, his flesh drawn tight over his skeleton so that his bones were clearly visible under the thin nightshirt that covered them and the tendons in his neck and arms stood out like twisted cords. He might weigh nine stone, ten at the most.

When Harry called his name there was no response, not even a flicker under the thin, shadowed flesh of the eyelids. 'Hey, Snape!' he said again, louder. Still nothing. A bitter, greasy smell like old coins rose from the emaciated body and his breath was strange, vaguely fruity. Some of Voldemort's prisoners had smelled like this when freed from his dungeons. It was the smell of starvation. 'Fuck,' Harry whispered. He could barely comprehend it – he had come to kill Snape and found him dying. When Voldemort's dungeons had been opened Harry had been sick with shock and pity seeing the few remaining living prisoners. Seeing Snape in the same condition was irritating.

Without trying to reason out why Harry slid an arm beneath Snape's bony shoulders and lifted. 'OK, Snape. Time to wake up. Come on.' The dark eyelids fluttered open and Snape looked up without a glimmer of recognition. 'Bath? No, food first, I guess, although you smell disgusting.'

Harry let the starving body slump back onto the bed. Obviously Snape was in no condition to get up. Food would have to be brought to him; if there was any food in this dismal place.

''Kay. I'm going to go get you something to eat. Broth or something. Wonder if there's anything in your cupboards?'

Harry walked noiselessly out of the room, almost tiptoeing the length of the corridor and down the stairs. He didn't know why he bothered. He had proven there was no one here but Snape and himself and Snape was barely conscious – clearly long past being bothered by the sound of footsteps or indeed anything else, not even barring a small war breaking out in his doorway.

In his earlier exploration he had found the kitchen was at the back of the house, a clear addition to an older existing structure. It looked only slightly less abandoned than the rest of the house. A tea cup with mouldy leaves sat at one end of a long table and the kettle still contained water, although it had the vague muddy green tinge of a stagnant pool. A small glass jar held a couple of stalks of dead and dusty flowers that Harry recognized as coming from the herbaceous border. This attempt at domesticity was even sadder than the abandoned stuffed lion. Harry shook his head irritably. Snape didn't deserve any pity.

Resolutely squaring his shoulders, he lit the stove with his wand, scrubbed the kettle and set it to boil while he explored a small pantry. It appeared as if Snape either loved or loathed pickle. There were an astonishing number of jars in a large variety - onions, walnuts, ploughman's, red cabbage. Behind them were a few jars of what might have been jam - it was hard to tell through the dust and the glass was unlabeled - boxes of stale biscuits, battered tins of mushy peas and baked beans, and in a dim recess two dusty packets of stock cubes, lamb and chicken. Harry opened the chicken one and sniffed. No telling how old it was but it didn't smell off – whatever that would mean for a stock cube.

Further exploration revealed mismatched china, flatware, a serving tray, and surprisingly a King George VI coronation teapot. The kettle was boiling nicely but, not trusting its earlier contents, Harry dumped it, added fresh water and set it to boil again. When it was ready he made a pot of tea, poured a cup and added more water to weaken it. He used more of the water in another cup with a single stock cube, using the back of a spoon to mash the cube and mix a weak cup of broth. Loading everything onto a tray he pushed the kitchen door open with his back and carried his find up the stairs to Snape's bedroom.

'Right then!' he called out with false cheerfulness. 'What about a spot of lunch? I've made some broth and brought you tea, although there's no milk or sugar. You'll just have to swallow it down as is.'

As Harry went to set the tray on the bedside table he was shocked to see a broken wand occupying a corner of it. _Deliberate or accidental? If deliberate, by Snape himself or someone else? If accidental, how?_ He would ask Snape later. Right now it was important to get some nourishment into the man. He set the tray down, nudging the wand to the side, and approached the bed.

'All right. Upsadaisy! Can't eat while you're lolling about.' There was no movement from Snape so once again Harry put his arm under the bony shoulders and lifted the man to a seated position, carefully pushing pillows behind him for support. Snape opened his eyes and looked blankly at Harry before closing them again. He made no attempt to grasp the spoon Harry held out to him.

'Going to make me do all the work, are you ?' Harry dipped the spoon into the cup of broth and brought it to Snape's mouth and watched with dismay as it spilled onto the already soiled nightshirt. 'Come on, Snape. You have to help. Open your mouth, there's a good boy.'

After fifteen minutes of cheerful, inane chatter and pushing the spoon to Snape's lips, when the small cup of broth was nearly empty and it seemed he had gotten more liquid into the mouth than on the nightshirt, Harry relaxed. Snape's head slumped wearily to his chest. Harry wondered if there was actually colour in the pale cheeks or if it was a trick of the thin light seeping in through the smudged window. He imagined the window shattering – shards of glass raining down onto Snape's hollow cheeks, slicing into the pale flesh – and allowing the sunlight to stream in.

  


* * *

  
Broth for Snape four or five times a day and pickles and beans and mushy peas for Harry. He had eaten his last apple on the road and careful hoarding of his bread had left him with one thin, stale slice. He could have cheerfully murdered someone for a piece of meat and a bit a fresh veg. He amused himself identifying the various cuts he could carve from Snape's body and decided it would all have to be stewed – that bastard would yield no tender chops.

Harry rooted through cupboards and drawers, making an inventory of what was there as something to pass the time. He found many of the single-use type kitchen implements that his Aunt Petunia had been so fond of although there was no sign of any electrical gadgetry; everything here could probably be considered an antique, he could make a bundle setting up a stall at Camden Market. In a drawer filled with odds and ends he discovered a small, leatherbound book and set it aside to peruse later while he had his tea. First, he needed to push more food down Snape's throat.

The first thing Harry noticed upon entering the bedroom room with tray in hand was that Snape's eyes were open. Even in the dim light he could see the sclera was yellow rather than white and threaded with an abundance of red veins like a roadmap. Snape's irises were so black he couldn't tell if the pupils were dilated or not, even when he bent down to look. Well, extended consciousness was a good sign even if the man looked like death.

'I'm not hungry,' Snape said weakly before Harry had done more than set the tray on the bedside table.

'Doesn't matter. You'll eat. We've been going through this for days. If you think I'm going to back down now. Open your mouth, there's a good boy. You're doing better. Tomorrow, I think, you'll be ready for a bath and a shave. The beard really doesn't suit you.'

'Your hair doesn't suit you but you don't hear me threatening you with scissors.' Snape's voice was dry as sand.

'Oh, you _are_ feeling better, aren't you? Now, open your mouth or next time I'll hit you over the head and shove a tube down your throat.'

It was less than half an hour later that Harry was back in the kitchen and the kettle was whistling merrily. He felt better than he had in days. He was sure now that Snape would recover. Resolutely he pushed away all thought of what eventual recovery would mean. He speared his last piece of stale bread with a fork and held it over the burner to toast. When it was sufficiently charred he smeared it with jam and poured himself a cup of tea. He waited until the toast was gone, carefully wiped his fingers on his jeans and picked up the little book he'd found. Opening it to a random page he recognized Snape's spidery handwriting and grinned. This could be better than poking about in a pensieve.

_1 Mar  
Perhaps I should have done some research. I am more than a little disturbed at how well I feel, alert and without the ache in my joints that has been plaguing me for years. I don't even feel hungry._

Harry flipped over a page.

_5 Mar  
If I weren't such a coward I would stop drinking water but it eases the hunger pangs in my belly. I should stop. It will only prolong my death._

Harry dashed irritably at the tear dripping down his cheek and realised he'd been staring off into space for several minutes. That must be why his eyes were watering; he certainly felt no sympathy for Snape. He turned back several pages in the journal, wanting to see where this began.

_15 Dec  
I am tired of running, tired of being alone. It's not so much that I miss the company of others, or their inane chatter, but I confess I do miss sex with someone other than my hand. For the first time masturbation feels pointless and lonely. This is ridiculous. I am getting maudlin._

_25 Dec  
Christmas. No goose, no turkey, and blessedly no Christmas pudding. Tomorrow I will take a trip to Knockturn for some needed supplies. Gall will not be going around distributing gifts to the poor and I believe him to be trustworthy and able to keep his mouth closed. He'll want to keep my business._

_26 Dec  
It's over. I'm not sure I really believe it but Gall told me Potter was successful, the Dark Lord is dead. Or so he says. I don't feel anything; no joy, no anger, no relief. I haven't felt anything since Albus. There's been no change to the mark. Perhaps it was foolish to imagine it would disappear, or perhaps he isn't really dead. Gall seemed sure although he didn't know how Potter had accomplished it. I saw people dancing in the streets. Actually dancing, not just jumping up and down. How absurd – the idiots. I suppose they will come for me soon._

_10 Jan  
I had thought someone would have found me by now. Could it really be that they aren't looking? I can't imagine Alastair Moody ever giving up, not after what I've done._

_15 Jan  
Fighting the temptation of returning to Hogwarts. Don't know why I want to return, other than pure curiosity. I have no desire of being struck down like a rabid dog. If I'm going to die anyway I'd rather do it myself. Perhaps hanging._

_18 Jan  
I've been unable to do it. It seemed such a clear and logical choice but when the moment came I used my magic to free myself. All these years I had convinced myself I was a brave man and now I'm revealed for the craven coward I am._

_19 Jan  
Thank God my father never destroyed mother's library as he threatened. I have found what I'm looking for. Peractio. If I kill my magic I can kill myself._

_31 Jan  
The pain was like nothing I've ever experienced. Taking the mark was child's play by comparison. I wonder that the old ones didn't find a painless way to accomplish the same thing. Or perhaps it should hurt. Perhaps – I don't know what I think but at least it's done. It's as if someone had pulled a vital organ out by main strength. Worst of all was breaking my wand. I cried as I haven't cried since I was a child. I never even wept for Albus – I had no time. Now I am no more than a squib._

_2 Feb  
I am a squib. How very irritating it is to scramble around trying to find things like matches to light the burner. For the first time it seems somewhat fortunate my father was a Muggle and insisted we live as they did, but these things no longer come naturally and I have the burnt knuckle to prove it. I'll need to acquire a new razor and strop as well, or learn how to repair those I found here. I cleaned the spots of rust off father's as best I could, but the strop is stiff and my face looks as if I'd had intimate contact with a pot cactus, little nicks and cuts. I don't know how Muggles stand it._

_4 Feb  
How stupid can I be? I never thought about making the necessary potions before completing Peractio and now I can't make them. To think I used to take pride in my intellect! I am more than an idiot, my recent actions make Potter look like a bloody genius._

Harry choked back bitter laughter. How like Snape, and yet it was somehow comforting to think the man held his hate for Harry as close as Harry held his for Snape.

_I can't even Apparate to Knockturn to beg Gall for something appropriate. All that's left to me are Muggle shops and I have no Muggle money and no way to exchange Galleons – the few I have left. I'm trapped. There is food here to last a little while but when it's gone there's no way to get more. Which answers the question of how – starvation. Albus, give me strength._

The book fell from Harry's fingers and landed on the floor with a dull thud. His questions about Snape's condition and broken wand were answered. And one more piece of information to clear things up; if he felt such guilt over Dumbledore then McGonagall was wrong, the Headmaster _hadn't_ wanted Snape to kill him. The bastard. The fucking bastard! Killing him would be a pleasure.

Harry didn't know why he was so mad. He'd known all along that Dumbledore hadn't asked Snape to kill him. But at some point in his reading, Harry realised, he'd begun to hope that maybe Snape did feel bad about it, maybe Harry'd been wrong all along. But he hadn't been wrong. Snape had killed Dumbledore for reasons of his own and somehow that hurt.

_Doesn't matter,_ Harry thought. _I know why I'm here. He deserves to die and I deserve to be the one who kills him. I'll string his entrails from here to Hogwarts. For Dumbledore. _

  


* * *

  
Snape was sitting by a grimy window in the kitchen staring out with a calm expression. Cradled in his skeletal hands was a teacup that, for all its chips, looked like a treasured family heirloom. The thinness of his face accentuated the great hook of his nose and his skin seemed almost translucent in the weak sunlight. Harry thought he looked strangely beautiful, like an ascetic at prayer. It had been a week and this was the first time Harry had seen him outside his bedroom.

Snape didn't acknowledge him so Harry didn't say anything but moved around quietly, starting the fire under the kettle again, slicing a piece of the small loaf of bread on the table. He raised the lid of the teapot and peered inside before emptying the dregs into the sink and rinsing the pot.

'You haven't yet told me why you're here, Potter.'

Harry almost dropped the teapot in surprise at hearing Snape speak; it clattered clumsily against the edge of the sink. He turned to find Snape watching him, face pinched.

'If you break that I shan't be able to forgive you. It was my grandmother's.'

'No,' Harry said inanely, 'I'll be careful.'

'Why did you come?'

There was a pause as Harry cast about for a plausible lie before giving up and blurting out the truth. 'I came to kill you. For killing Dumbledore.'

'Ah,' said Snape as he turned back to his window. 'Your typical unthinking stupidity. Wouldn't it have made more sense to let me die?'

'I couldn't,' Harry said simply. 'And before you ask, I don't really know why. I guess it seemed a bit like stabbing someone in the back.'

'You're an idiot, Potter,' Snape said without rancour.

'Always have been, haven't I ?' Harry kept his face blank but his eyes sparked with amusement. 'Do you think you could eat? Something other than broth, I mean.' Harry stared into the pantry. 'Beans on toast? That's probably a bad idea. Maybe just the toast. There's no butter but I think this is more jam,' he said, holding up a dusty jar. 'And I think there's a head in the icebox. Might've gone off after all this time though.'

Snape looked at him through slitted eyes. 'Dry toast and tea. I don't suppose there's milk? I don't really feel up to anything else.'  


* * *

Getting up and making his way downstairs, eating breakfast – however minimally – and making conversation had completely taxed Snape's resources. When he'd tried to make his way back up to his room, he'd fallen and slipped down several stairs. Harry heard the noise and went rushing to the stairwell to find Snape in a heap on the floor. A sour reek gave evidence of vomit even before Harry helped him up.

'Good thing we didn't start you out on baked beans. Let's get you back to bed.' Ignoring the streaks of puke on Snape's robes, Harry hoisted him over his shoulder. He could hear Snape's feet clunk against every stair but wasn't tall enough to prevent it from happening, even if he had wanted to.

Heaving Snape onto the bed caused another round of vomiting. Harry grimaced and began to gracelessly pull the soiled robe off. 'This would not be a good time for a repeat performance,' he said, as Snape's head cleared the material. 'You know, I expected you to be bigger,' Harry nodded at Snape's exposed groin.

'Careful, Potter,' Snape rasped, 'people will think you're queer.'

'You're the only one here and you barely count as human in your current state. And I am queer. Or I would be if I had time to get any,' Harry laughed.

'Albus always said we had more in common that I would admit to.'

'Won't do you any good, Snape. I've never seen a man less appealing. You stink. Do you think you could manage a bath without drowning?'

'You should have asked me that downstairs. The bathroom is off the kitchen.'

Harry smacked his forehead. 'I should've thought of that. I discovered it my first day. Unlike some people, I bathe daily.'

'Shut up and _Scourgify_. Even the pleasures of the bath aren't worth being slung over your shoulder again. I believe I might have broken a toe.'

'I should have left you in a heap at the bottom of the stairs,' Harry snapped.

'You should have left me to die,' Snape snapped back.

'Possibly the first time I've ever agreed with you, but it's too late now.' Harry pulled out his wand and performed the cleaning spell on Snape and the bedsheets. 'I'll put the basin at the side of the bed. If you must puke, try to hit it, will you? If you miss, I'm not going to be the one cleaning it up. And get some sleep.'

Harry stopped in the doorway and looked back. 'Bread, cheese and pickles for dinner,' he grinned. He waited long enough to see Snape retch over the side of the bed before walking out the door, whistling.

  


* * *

  
It had taken more research than he was used to but he had found the spell Snape had referred to in the tiny journal. _Peractio_. A spell to sever ones magic. Harry was appalled. He had gathered the meaning from Snape's reference but reading about it in the big book of spells, understanding that it was irreversible, made him feel sick to his stomach. Why would a wizard do that to himself? Why had Snape? He could have chosen to brew any number of fast-acting, painless poisons, but instead he had chosen this. It was like choosing to castrate oneself. What the hell had he been thinking?

The journal had given him some clue as to Snape's state of mind and had pointed him in the direction of the spell used, but it just didn't answer the why. Suicidal feelings were one thing, something Harry was intimately familiar with but why this way? Why sever his magic? Why starve? It made no sense at all. Unless. Unless. The thought was elusive and Harry couldn't hold onto it. There was nothing to do except wait until Snape was better and ask the man himself. _That_ was bound to be a pleasant conversation but curiosity ate at Harry. He had to understand.

He tossed the book aside, its usefulness ended. Once upon a time the contents, the esoteric spells, dark and light, would have compelled his attention but he'd rather lost interest in exploring new avenues of magic since his sixth year when he'd almost killed Draco Malfoy. He didn't need any more magic than he already had. All he needed was justice for Dumbledore and then he could retire, plant a garden or something. Find a nice bloke, maybe. Settle down. Get drunk and stay drunk. His life had been on hold since he had first found out he was a wizard. One more thing to do and then he'd be free.

Slanting rain pounded against the windows but barely managed to do more than muddy the years of accumulated filth. Still, the sound was pleasant and Harry found himself drowsing, occasionally jerking his head up as it tilted towards his chest, trying to pretend he was alert and interested in the book on his lap. He was in what might be called a study, if one was feeling generous. It was little different than the sitting room; a tattered couch, two sprung armchairs, a small table and walls of dusty books and scrolls were the only amenities other than a meagre fire using the last few small lumps of coal Harry had found in the ancient coal cellar.

'Make yourself at home, Potter,' came a hoarse sneering voice from the doorway.

'You're up. Is that wise? You look like shit.'

Snape moved slowly, like an old man, and settled gingerly into one of the armchairs. 'That fireplace hasn't seen flame in years. Where did you get coal?'

'Uh, in the coal cellar? Didn't you know you had one? Been ages since it's been filled, I imagine. Still, a few lumps and a good sweep of the floor and,' Harry snapped his fingers, 'Bob's your uncle.'

'Muggles have the stupidest expressions.'

'Tell that to your mother,' Harry snarled. 'You forget I know your secret.'

'Leave my mother out of this, you impudent little shit. And it was never a secret.'

'No? Then I suppose you told all your little Death Eater friends?'

Snape curled his lip in momentary defeat.

'What are you reading ?' he asked presently.

'Three Thousand Twelve Uses for Members of the Nightshade Family, Including Tomato and Aubergine.' Harry turned the cover towards Snape. 'Dead boring. They've even managed to make the bits about poisons tedious.'  
'Then why are you reading it?'

'Tried to find something to put me to sleep. Had almost succeeded too, when you so rudely interrupted.'

Snape rose painfully and walked slowly to the door, stopped, and turned back. 'I want to talk to you,' he said through gritted teeth.

'So talk. I'm pretty much a captive audience since you're standing in the way of my only means of escape.'

'I've thought about this for several days.'

'You haven't thought about anything for weeks.'

'Potter, shut up! I wish to talk seriously.'

'Yeah? Well, if wishes were horses, pigs would fly. What if I don't want to talk about whatever it is you want to talk about? What then?'

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Harry was fairly sure he was counting to ten. As the silence stretched on he upped his estimate to one hundred. He imagined Snape continuing to count, numbers stretching out into eternity until both of them were dead, indistinguishable from the rest of the dust in the house.

'Leave. Today. Let me get back to my life, or, more appropriately, my death.'

'Make up your mind, Snape. I'm here for your death. If I leave, who will release you?'

'I was doing a good job of it before you appeared.'

'Not good enough. You were alive when I got here. And, oh look! You're still alive. I think your ambivalence is showing. If you really wanted to die, you'd be dead already. And besides, when you're dead I'm out of a job. I think I'm a little young to retire, don't you ?' Harry flashed his cheesiest grin.

'Using your own arguments – if you really wanted me dead, I'd be dead already.' Snape took on that particular superior look that had always made Harry see red.

'Oh, I want you dead, you fucker. With maximum pain and suffering. I couldn't let you starve yourself, that would have been too easy on you. I don't know why you chose starvation to begin with, poison would've been quicker.' Harry's teeth were gritted and his face was turning red as he vented his spleen. 'Yeah, I want you dead. I think a couple of days of _Cruciatus_ and then _Sectumsempra_. And I'll stand right over you while you bleed out.'

'So much hostility for such a little boy.'

Harry laughed angrily. 'You won't make me lose my temper this time, _Professor_. I'm going to wait until you're nice and healthy and possibly, just possibly, enjoying life a little. And then I'll kill you. Slowly.'

'This is not all about Dumbledore.'

'This is about nothing but Dumbledore, murderer!'

'No. After what he did to you? The way he used you?' Snape raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

'Shut up! He did not! He didn't use me!'

'Oh, Potter. Surely even you are not that pathetic. He's dead therefore he did no wrong while he was alive? Of course he used you. As he used everybody. Albus was more than a great man; he was a good man but a good man with the unfortunate tendency to believe the end justified the means. _Of course_ he used you.'

'It wasn't his fault, his choice! Voldemort–'

'You were eleven when you came to Hogwarts. Eleven. Surely eleven is too young to involve a child in a war ?' Snape's tone added, 'You imbecile.'

'Dumbledore wasn't responsible for what happened with the Philosopher's Stone,' Harry insisted. 'Voldemort–'

'THINK, POTTER!' Snape roared. 'For once in your life, THINK! If Dumbledore could get the stone away from Gringotts, if he could get the Stone from Diagon Alley to Hogwarts, if he could arrange a three-headed dog and a series of protective spells, how is it he couldn't just have it taken to Nicholas Flamel?'

'But there wasn't time. Voldemort–'

'He could have left it in the vault at Gringotts. Bringing the Stone to Hogwarts is what put it at risk. And did you ever ask yourself how it was that the Dark Lord knew, well before the school year started, that the Stone would be at Hogwarts?'

'But–' Harry began and then stopped. 'Well, no. How _did_ he know? Dumbledore couldn't have–'

'We'll never know what Dumbledore could or couldn't have done, but for myself I have to say I wouldn't have put anything past him. Face it, you were set up.'

'SHUT UP!' Harry screamed. 'It doesn't matter what he did to me! That doesn't have anything to do with you. _You_ killed him. He begged for his life and you killed him! And I loved him, damn you!'

'And that's what this is about, isn't it? Yet one more person you loved was taken away from you. You don't just want to kill me to revenge Albus, you want revenge for your parents and Cedric Diggory and Black.'

'I said SHUT UP!' Harry clapped his hands over his ears. 'I don't want to hear any more about this. I don't want to talk about it. You're just trying to skate away from your own responsibility in this. He _begged_ you not to kill him. Albus Dumbledore begged you not to kill him and you _Avada Kedavra_'d his arse.

'Take a bath, fuckhead!' Harry yelled over his shoulder as he stormed from the room.

Behind him he could hear Snape laughing softly.  


* * *

Harry had taken to spending most of his time in the nursery, away from Snape – who still hadn't taken a bath as far as he knew. He still brought the man his meals, although he thankfully didn't have to spoonfeed him anymore. But except for those sixty odd seconds three times a day the nursery had become his sanctuary, albeit one where he could still hear Snape if anything happened.

Stupidly, out of loneliness he supposed, he had taken to talking to the bedraggled stuffed lion. It didn't take a genius to suss out the deep psychological import of choosing that, of all things. It embarrassed him, made him feel all of six years old – although he'd never had his own stuffed pet at that age– but he had dubbed the lion Rufous. He sat in the nursery, forearms resting on his thighs, holding the lion between his two hands and talked to it. Usually he had to get up several times and check the door was locked. It wouldn't do to have Snape barging in and catching Harry talking to _his_ lion.

'One day you're just a kid – a kid who sleeps in a cupboard, but just a kid nonetheless – and you don't know your life isn't normal but you have dreams of how it could be different, what it would be like to be the chosen one, the loved son and not the castoff spare that no one really wants, and then the next day you're admitted into a secret world of your fantasies but it isn't a fantasy, it's real, and not only can you do magic but everybody thinks you're special, the prince that comes to save the kingdom from the evil king and sometimes you think it's all a dream but it isn't a dream and you're never going to wake up, and the kicker is, everybody expects you to kill the evil king and no one asks if you want to, they just taken as a given. Mostly, I just wish I was back in my cupboard.

'I don't hate Snape, but I want to and he knows it and I hate him for that. And I hate him for being alive when I got here and making me save his life. Selfish bastard. I should drown him in his bath.'

Harry pulled at a particularly dry piece of skin on his forefinger and winced with pleasure as it peeled off, exposing the raw flesh beneath. He watched in fascination as tiny dots of blood welled up, more like the beads of perspiration that spotted his forehead on a hot day than the rivers and pools of blood he dreamt about.

He expelled the breath he'd been holding and showed his finger to Rufous, who wasn't very interested.

'I miss Ron, you know? Talking to him. Even if he is a prat most of the time. Not that I don't like talking to you, mind. What was that? Did you hear that? Hang on.' Harry unlocked the door and listened.

'Potter! POTTER! God _damn_ it! Where is that dunderhead? POTTER!'

'Whoa! Calm down!' Harry stepped into the bathroom, hands palm out. 'I'm right here. Takes more than fifteen seconds to get from the nursery to here.'

'What were you doing in the nursery?' Snape asked suspiciously.

'Never mind that. Why were you screaming?'

'I was not screaming. I don't scream. I was shouting.'

'Yeah. You don't scream and I'm Lucius Malfoy's love child.'

'You could be.'  
'Shut up! God, you're such a bastard!' Harry looked down at Snape and in spite of being furious with him had to grin when he saw the flannel draped modestly over the man's groin. 'Not necessary, is it? I've already seen your shortcomings.'

'Be quiet and help me up.'

'You'll lose the flannel.'

'Help me up, you fool. The heat has made me light-headed and my arms don't seem to have any strength at all.'

'That's what happens when you don't eat. Surely your beloved mum explained that to you?'

'That's the last time you mention my mother. Just because yours was inept enough to get herself killed–'

Harry hauled his arm back and slapped Snape hard. Anger slowly faded into guilt as he realised the thunk he'd heard was Snape's head hitting the back of the tub and the man hadn't moved since.

'Shit! Shit. Snape, come on. Wake up.' He patted Snape's cheek, red with the imprint of his open hand, and tried to rouse him. 'Come on. I'm sorry. You shouldn't talk about my mum that way. Wake up, damn you!' There was no response but neither was there the pinkish swirl caused by blood thinning out in the water.

Snape was nothing but taut flesh over bone; he shouldn't have been so heavy. It must've been the weight of all the bad things he'd done in his life. After several attempts Harry still hadn't been able to pull him from the bath and each time he let go to catch a breath the man's head slipped closer to the water line. It occurred to Harry that this was his opportunity. He could just let himself out of the house, let Snape drown and no one would ever be the wiser. Although maybe his face would be bruised from the slap, or his ribs would display where Harry had fastened his arms around him in an effort to hoist him up. If that were the case, people might suspect. One way or another, word would get out. Of course that was true no matter what he did. Harry wondered how what had seemed like a fairly straightforward task had become so convoluted.

'I guess it's out of the question to let you drown, you prick,' Harry muttered as he fumbled in the water for the tub's stopper. When the bath had fully drained he noticed that the flannel covering Snape's cock had slipped away and this, like so many things in recent days, made him sad. He covered Snape with a towel, as much to keep him warm as to shield his own eyes from the emaciated flesh that made him want to weep.

He'd have to wait for Snape to regain consciousness; he needed the man's help to get him out of the bath. He sat down next to the tub, carefully skirting the wet patch on the floor where the water had splashed out. 'I should have let you die. I don't know why I didn't.' Harry chewed at a finger, biting the dried flesh around it until he drew blood.

  


* * *

  
Morning brought three magical things – the first sight of sunlight in days and with it the smells of bacon and coffee. For a moment Harry let himself imagine he was back at the Burrow before everything had gone to hell. He rolled over and stretched his hand out across the gap between his bed and Ron's to shake his friend awake but his hand met nothing but empty air and he suddenly remembered where he was. He shivered, in spite of the sun and the comforting smells wafting up from downstairs it was cold. If he was going to stay here much longer he would need to see about getting fuel. The grates were really too small to hold enough wood to generate any heat and he had no idea where to get coal.

Harry became aware of something uncomfortable jabbing him in the ribs and sat up. 'Oh, it's you,' he said to Rufous as he pulled the little lion out from under him. 'How'd you get in my bed? Bloody hell, will you look at my fingers.' He held them under the lion's nose, displaying the raw patches under the cuticles where he had picked and chewed for hours the night before.

'What the hell do you think you're doing? How dare you! Put that down this instant!' Snape stood in the doorway, a tray in hand, looking livid and Harry cursed himself for not locking the door.

'What? What did I do? Put what down? Oh. You mean Rufous.' Harry blushed scarlet.

'His name is Titus,' Snape sneered.

'Titus? That's a stupid name.'

'Whereas Rufus is profound?'

'Not Rufus. Rufous. Rooofus. 'Cause of the colour of his mane.'

'Put him down and leave this room immediately. Apparently I can't induce you to leave my house but you've no right to go prying wherever you wish.'

Harry scrambled out of bed. 'Sorry. Don't get your knickers in a twist. I didn't mean to fall asleep in here. Is that for me?' he asked, pointing at the tray in Snape's hands. 'And what are you doing up? You should be in bed. You got a nasty knock on your head last night.'

'Thanks to you. And yes, this is for you. Or it was before I discovered you pawing my things. You can take your skinny arse downstairs to eat.' Snape turned and stalked away, taking the tray with him.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, embarrassed when he realised he was wearing only his underpants. 'My arse isn't skinny,' he muttered. 'It's nicer than anything _you'll_ ever get, you despicable old wanker.'

'Look,' Harry said when he entered the kitchen after getting dressed and taking a quick trip to the loo, 'I'm sorry about your lion. I didn't even know it _was_ yours. If I had I wouldn't have touched it. Probably disease-ridden or something.'

'Shut up and eat.' Snape refused to look at him.

'Right,' Harry said cheerfully as he tucked into bacon and toast. 'So why Titus?'

Snape still wouldn't turn around.

'Come on, Snape. You know you want to tell me.'

'Titus Andronicus,' Snape said stiffly. 'Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.'

'What's that about?'

'Nothing. He was given to me when I was quite small. I confused Andronicus with Androcles and Titus was much easier to pronounce. So there you have it. I would appreciate it if you would stay out of the nursery.'

'I won't sleep with Rufous, er, Titus anymore. Didn't mean to make you jealous.'

'You're absurd.'

'Really, there's nothing between us. I don't want you to get the wrong idea.' Harry was grinning broadly. 'I don't even know how he got into bed with me. I'm sure he loves you best. Or,' he added, winking mischievously, 'have I got the wrong end of things? It's Titus you're jealous of, isn't it?'

Snape looked at Harry and rolled his eyes. 'What idiocy are you spouting now?'

'Well, you were bringing me breakfast in bed and you did admire my arse.'

'The former will never happen again. I was apparently overcome with a bout of insane gratitude. And the latter never happened to begin with, so it can't be repeated.' Snape was suddenly very interested in the contents of a cupboard.

Harry couldn't see Snape's face but he thought _maybe_ the man was smiling.

'How's your head?'

'Still intact. I have a bit of a headache, nothing more. As a matter of fact, I'm feeling quite adequate.'

'All my tender loving care, that's what it is.'

'Yes, tender loving care that includes slapping me in the face and attempting to murder me in my bath.'

'I should've let you drown after all,' Harry murmured angrily.

'So, you did think about it.'

'Of course I did, you bastard. It's what I'm here for, isn't it?'

'I wish you'd just do it then and leave me in peace.'

Harry choked. 'Okay, _that_ was funny. Don't worry, Snape, I haven't forgot why I'm here. Although after everything you've done in your life, I'm not sure you can count on resting in peace.' He continued to snigger behind his hand.

'How very droll. If you're done with your breakfast, bring me your plate.' Snape was pouring boiling water from the kettle into the sink.

'You know, I could just do that for you,' Harry said, swishing his wand back and forth.

'Thank you, no. It was my choice to make myself a squib and I hardly need your pity.'

'Right, suit yourself,' said Harry, handing Snape his plate.

'What did you do to your hands?'

'What? Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it.' Harry hastily shoved his hands in his pockets.

'Let me see.'

'No. It's nothing.'

'Let me see your hands, Mister Potter.' No matter that Snape's voice was still weak, he was in full 'I am the bane of your benighted existence and you will do precisely what I say' mode and Harry unwillingly pulled his hands out and extended them.

'Teeth or fingers?'

'Both.' Harry shrugged.

'Why?'

'Just a habit.'

'It may be habit now but it didn't start that way. Why are you self-mutilating?'

'It's hardly mutilation!' Harry protested indignantly.

'If you peeled away bits of your flesh with a razor, would _that_ be mutilation?'

'Well, yeah.'

'I see no difference. You're tearing at your skin and drawing blood, ergo, you are self-mutilating. I want to know why.'

'It's just something I do. I don't know why.' Seeing the look on Snape's face he repeated. 'I don't _know_.'

'What a load of bollocks. Why are you destroying your fingers?'

'What's it to you anyway? I don't want to talk about it. Do your washing up. I'm going to go read.' Harry headed for the doorway.

'You can't run away every time a conversation makes you uncomfortable,' Snape drawled.

'Can't I? Just watch me.'

'Suit yourself,' Snape called after him. 'And stay out of the nursery.'

  


* * *

  
Ravens were lining up in the branches of the plane tree outside the window. From inside they looked like orderly black smudges on the pane, but he knew what they were. Everywhere he had travelled since leaving Hogwarts ravens had been conspicuous, laughing raucously, swooping down and trying to steal food wherever he'd camped. He had no idea if there were just more of them lately or if they were...he just didn't know. He only knew they gave him comfort and made him nervous by turns. They reminded him of Snape.

Harry was staring at them out the window, curled up, gnawing at his thumb, shivering. He wasn't cold.

'I thought I told you to stay out of here.'

'This isn't the nursery.' Harry didn't move from his huddled position on the bed.

'Don't quibble. It's a room attached to the nursery, therefore it is part of the nursery. Get up and get out. Now!'

'God, why can't you just leave me alone?' Harry stood up and pushed his way rudely past Snape.

'Stop. You're crying. Why?'

'What. The. Hell. Do. You. Care?' Harry asked through gritted teeth. 'It's not as if we're friends. Just leave me alone. I'll stay out of your fucking nursery.'

'Potter.'

'What now, damn it?'

'Titus.'

'What about him?'

'I believe he's hiding under your shirt. Leave him here.'

'Fuck!' Harry threw the stuffed lion at Snape and fought to keep from bursting into fresh tears when the thread holding its remaining eye snapped and the black button bounced on the floor. 'There, satisfied? I won't come into your fucking nursery and I won't touch your fucking lion! Why do you have a lion, anyway? Wouldn't a creepy, crawly, slimy _snake_ be more appropriate?'

'He was given me by an aunt who was considered the black sheep of the family. She'd been sorted into Gryffindor.'

'Very funny.' Harry wiped his eyes. He'd been crying a lot lately, he had no idea why. It just wasn't normal. He'd never done it in front of Snape before, and he damned well wasn't going to keep doing it now. 'Your mother was probably a Gryffindor. I bet she wanted to kill herself when you were sorted into Slytherin.'

'For your information, my mother, whom you will refrain from ever mentioning again, was in Ravenclaw. And she was quite proud when I was sorted into Slytherin.'

'So she was a Death Eater as well, eh?'

'Do not speak of things about which you have no understanding,' Snape's voice was oily with threat. 'My mother did the best she could under difficult circumstances. _She_ was not a pampered prima donna.'

'Meaning, I suppose, that my mother was? I told you to shut the fuck up about my mother, Snape.'  
'If you want me to speak respectfully about your mother you will cease from talking about mine at all.' Snape turned away. 'Not that your mother was deserving of any respect, the little Muggle slut.'

'I heard that!' Harry yelled, launching himself at Snape, fists flying.

The two men went down in a heap on the floor and Harry scrambled on top of Snape, pummelling his head and chest with all his strength. Snape didn't fight back, merely covered his head as best he could with his arms and let Harry rain down blows.

'Fight, damn you! Fight me, you fucking coward!' Harry screamed.

A thick red stream was spurting from Snape's nose where Harry had managed to sneak past the protective barrier of Snape's arms, but still he didn't strike back. He started to cough as blood filled his throat and mouth and gradually, face flushed and sweaty, Harry pulled back.

'Are you done, Potter?' Snape asked in a choked voice.

'Yeah. Yeah, I am,' Harry said.

'Good,' said Snape, sitting up and taking Harry's head in both his hands. He brought their mouths together.

The bitter copper taste of blood filled Harry's mouth and he wrenched himself away. 'God, you're a sick fuck!'

Snape smiled wearily. 'As if that was ever in doubt. Good night, Potter.' He looked ruefully down at his splattered robes and wiped a hand across his nose, smearing his mouth and chin with blood. 'I think I'll take a bath. I trust that meets with your approval?'

'Yeah, whatever. Just go.' Harry had rolled off Snape and was now huddled against a wall feeling shocked and sickened.

'Don't make a mess in my nursery.'

'What? What?'

'I assume you'll want to take care of that,' Snape drawled, pointing at the erection tenting Harry's trousers. 'Don't do it in the nursery. It would be...sacrilegious.' Snape stooped to pick Titus up off the floor and shoved him in a pocket of his robes, leaving Harry flushed and agitated with his head buried against his knees.

  


* * *

  
The wind is picking up. Overhead the clouds are scudding by so fast it makes him dizzy and he has to look away or he'll topple from his perch. His tree branch is slick with moss and there are about a billion ants crawling up and down. He wants to brush them away, afraid they'll bite, but he doesn't dare make any abrupt moves or he might be spotted.

He takes several deep breaths and moves the barrel of the rifle minutely, nestling it more firmly in the crook of two small branches he's using as a tripod. Looking one more time through the scope he's so shocked he almost tumbles. Snape is centred in the crosshairs. He blinks and sights again, realising he must be imagining things. It's nerves. Just bloody nerves. It's not Snape. No one knows where Snape is but he's not there, not in the house, not anywhere in sight.

He takes another deep breath and sights for the last time, slowly and gently squeezing the trigger, remembering everything he's been taught. He's grown used to the report of the rifle, he's had months of training, but it sounds unnaturally loud anyway. He watches his target get hit and fly over backwards off the edge of the tower, long white hair and beard fluttering in the wind of his descent.

Screaming NO at the top of his lungs, he scrambles down the tree, leaving his rifle behind. There's been some horrible mistake! It wasn't Dumbledore in the crosshairs but it's Dumbledore who's free-falling through the night sky. Dumbledore who's laughing. Dumbledore who yells gleefully, 'We are the choices we make, Harry!'

The hillside is wet with dew and he slides, feet flying out from under him. He looks at his hands, clutching at the wet, red grass and blood drips from his fingertips. He's stumbling, falling, sliding in a slick of blood. He can feel the stickiness on his thighs, his cock, his belly and his chest. Sliding down the hill on a river of blood.

Snape is sliding with him. They tumble over each other, smearing blood on chin and cheek, before landing in a tangle of limbs on the banks of the bloody river. Snape laughs as he stands and extends his hand. 'Well done, Potter. We're free. We're finally free!'

He watches in shock as Snape dives gracefully into the river, sending a fountain of blood into the atmosphere and opening his mouth to catch it as it falls back to earth. Drops dimple the water, creating concentric circles. Snape dives into the middle of one and comes up clutching something in each hand.

'Left or right?'

'Left,' Harry says and watches as Snape holds out a brand new trainer, gleaming white with blue wings feathering out from the heels. Harry takes it and then tosses it away.

'Right, then.' Snape says and holds out his hand, revealing a tiny coffin, carved with runes and lined with white satin embroidered with magic.

Harry shakes his head, trembling, refusing to stretch out his hand, watching in fear as Snape glides from the river, rivulets of blood running down his body.

'No!' Harry screams. 'No!'

His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes flew open. It took him a moment to notice that his skin was clean and dry. He looked around the room, not sure where the river of blood went. Weak sunlight filtered in through the window and Harry watched for several minutes as the ravens gathered. It was only then he knew he had been dreaming. Only then he realised he was so hard he hurt. He took his cock in his rough hand, felt the dry dead skin on his fingers scratch the sensitive head, and he stroked off quickly, refusing the images of Snape, Dumbledore, Voldemort that want to accompany him. When he comes he is startled to see his spunk is white, not crimson.

  


* * *

  
'God, it's fucking freezing!' Harry walked into the kitchen rubbing his hands together to warm them. 'Don't you ever heat this place?'  
'Coal is hard to come by these days.'

'Bloody fucking impossible apparently. How do you survive it?'

'I was trying rather hard _not_ to survive it, if you'll recall.'

'Surely there's somewhere we can get some fuel?'

Snape let a handful of matchsticks fall onto the table in front of Harry. 'There you go, Mister Potter.'

'Great. Just great. I've nothing to light with them.'

'Oh for god's sake. Use your wand.'

'What? If you think I'm going to burn my wand for a few minutes heat–'

'You are stupider than even I believed possible!' Snape gave Harry a sickening smile and spoke to him as if he were three, speaking slowly and enunciating clearly. 'Use your wand to transfigure the matchsticks into coal, Mister Potter. I'm sure by this point you're capable of such elementary magic.'

Harry blushed. 'Don't smile like that, you look like the sleazy man in the park who used to offer us candy. Right. Well then. I'll just make a fire in the study, shall I? What's for breakfast?'

'Whatever you choose to prepare for yourself. I may be a squib but I'm not yet an house-elf. I have already eaten. There's eggs in the icebox and bread in the pantry. I am going to bathe.'

'You just took a bath last night. What's got into you?'

'Try going several weeks too weak to clean yourself, Potter. And I'm not altogether confident in your abilities to get a fire going. A bath will warm me up.'

Snape paused in the doorway. 'You may join me, if you like.'

'Oh, don't start that. I still haven't recovered from your bloody kiss. I may never kiss anyone again.'

'Pity,' Snape said, 'although it gives me great pleasure to think I may have scarred you for life.'

Harry had cooked, eaten, washed up, started a fire and was sitting on the sofa three chapters into a book about Merlin when Snape finally emerged from his bath and entered the study still towel drying his hair. He was barefoot and wearing dark trousers and a black shirt rather than his robes. Harry looked at him appraisingly. The Muggle clothes accented his gauntness and his pallor. He really didn't look well.

'Took you that long to get the grease out of your hair, did it?'

'Shut it, imp,' Snape said cheerfully. 'I see you managed to get a fire going without burning down the house. I'll admit I'm surprised. Minerva is a better teacher than I ever gave her credit for if she managed to pound something through your thick skull.'  
'As if you'd know good teaching from bad,' Harry snorted.

'I'm an excellent teacher as testified to by the fact that even Longbottom never managed to kill or maim anyone in my class.'

'No casualties? Is that your idea of good teaching?'

''No prisoners' would be a better phrase but have it your own way.'

Snape was positively chipper and Harry found it aggravating.

'Aren't you little Miss Mary Sunshine this morning?'

'I'm filled with an extraordinary sense of well-being. I don't quite know what to make of it.'

Snape dropped to his knees in front of the sofa and Harry's mind went momentarily blank, unable to make sense of the man's actions.

'What are you doing?'

'Attempting to start repaying a favour.'

'What favour?'

'You saved my life.'

Harry snorted. 'That's more than a favour, that's a life debt. But not to worry, I only saved you so I could have the pleasure of killing you myself.' He almost said, 'and a blow job doesn't repay a life debt,' but he held back, afraid that he just might be misinterpreting. Until Snape deftly freed the top button of Harry's jeans.

'What are you doing?'

'I think we've already had this conversation.' Snape rocked back on his heels and looked up at Harry. 'Indulge me. You'll enjoy yourself.'

'What will you get out of it?'

'Have you ever been really near death, Potter? As a non-infant, I mean. The world seems somehow brighter at the moment. I can hear and smell and see more clearly than I ever could. At the moment, I crave sensation. You're an attractive man and you smell good.'

'You think if I sleep with you I won't be able to kill you!' Harry accused.

'Perhaps I'm just attracted to you, Potter. Did that ever occur to you?'

'Right,' Harry drawled, 'that'll be the day. Bugger off, Snape. My sex life of late has been too dismal to for me to appreciate jokes at my expense.' Harry did his best to sound easy and confident but his flesh crawled and his tongue found a rough patch below the cuticle of one finger and he nibbled at it.

'I'm not joking. And get your fingers out of your mouth!'

'What's it to you what I do with my hands and oh yes you are too joking. Get up off your knees. You're still too weak for this kind of stuff, even if I were interested, which I'm not.' But Harry had been interested, and Snape had to have known it. He had been, after all, practically at crotch level.

Snape stood up gracefully. 'Very well, but you've no idea what you're missing.'

'It'd be a fine chance, wouldn't it?'

'I still crave stimulation and I'm afraid conversation with you will not satisfy. Neither will returning alone to my bed nor reading a book. It's a bit brisk outside, but the sun is out. I'm going for a walk. You're welcome to accompany me, or not, as you see fit.'

'Yeah. All right. Let me get a jumper.'

'You say 'yeah' entirely too much.'

'Yeah? Who are you? My mother?'

'Go get your jumper, Potter. I'll meet you at the gate.'

  


* * *

  
'How did you do it?'

They hadn't passed a word in quite some time and Harry was startled to hear Snape's voice, but he immediately understood the question.

'Um, you won't approve.'

Snape looked exasperated. 'You really are the most irritating dolt sometimes, Potter. You killed the Dark Lord. You saved the wizarding world, and a good deal of the Muggle world as well. Of what could I possibly disapprove?'

'Rfl,' Harry muttered, swiping his hand over his mouth when he said it.

'Bless you,' Snape said drolly. 'Don't be coy. It's unbecoming a war hero.'

'A rifle. I used a rifle. You know, a long Muggle gun. You do know what a gun is, don't you? Thing Muggles use to kill each other. You've probably never seen one. Actually, neither had I. I don't know exactly how they work but something to do with gunpowder and uh, a slug. Not a real slug you know, not the kind that crawl on the ground and are all slimy. No, a lead slug. A piece of metal-'

Snape peered at Harry from under furrowed eyebrows. 'I _know_ what a rifle is. For that matter I know what bullets are and how they're made.'

'You do? How do you know that? Wizards don't use guns. Do they? We, I mean.'

'To think if you had only arrived a week later than you did, I wouldn't have to put up with this. Take it as given that I know what a gun is. Give me pertinent details.'

'OK. Right. Well, everyone thought it was a stupid idea. Except for Mad-Eye. He thought it could work all along. But I thought, well, _power the Dark Lord knows not_ and I thought well, shit, a big gun. _That'd_ be a power the Dark Lord knew not. Anyway, that's what I thought and it worked.'

'You shot the Dark Lord?'

'Yeah! Brilliant, right?'

'You shot the Dark Lord?'

'Now see, you're being just like all the rest of them. But it made sense. It did! A rifle with a scope? You know what a scope is? Take it easy, I was just asking,' Harry hurried on as Snape scowled. 'I knew Voldemort and the Death Eaters would never think of it. They wouldn't prepare for it. It just would never occur to them that the Voldemort could be disposed of that way. With a Muggle weapon? And I was right.'

'There's a first time for everything. Congratulations. And thank you.'

'You're not going to get down on your knees again, are you?'

'No, Mister Potter. Next time you will come to me.'

'Pretty cocksure, aren't you?'

'Do not let the state of my magical implement when quiescent fool you. I have sufficient to be sure about.'

'OK then,' Harry said, blushing again, 'look at this lovely flower. What do you call this?'

  


* * *

  
Talking became what they did. At breakfast, in the study, the room Harry had taken as his, Snape's bedroom, and on walk after walk after walk. Snape regained his strength. Harry wanted to ask him about his suicide attempt, but didn't. He wanted to tell Snape about his dreams, but couldn't. He wanted to ask if Snape saw and heard the things he did, words hanging in the air, moon pooling on the floor of the nursery, the laughter of the crows, but he was afraid the answer would be no.

  


* * *

  
'What are you doing?'

'This floor's filthy. It needs to be cleaned.' Harry didn't look up from his task. 'You could help with the housework, you know.'

'If you don't like the house, you're free to leave any time. It's not as if I want you here.'

Harry didn't respond and Snape fell silent but Harry could feel him watching. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

'Is that _my_ toothbrush you're using?' The tone of Snape's voice made Harry look up finally and he flinched at the rage he saw.

'Not as if you ever use it,' he said truculently, and flinched, waiting for a blow to fall.

'I wonder which of us will kill the other first,' Snape said as he stalked from the room.

  


* * *

  
'What happened to the town?' Harry asked.

'A Muggle Prime Minister,' Snape responded.

'Margaret Thatcher,' said Harry. 'Redundancy.'

'Well before Thatcher. Two businesses merged, the mill closed and work went to Sri Lanka, I believe. The locals made an attempt to partake of the tourist trade but there's little here to recommend it and Fat Andy doesn't live in this part of Yorkshire.'

'Who's Fat Andy?'

'A literary allusion. Never mind. The town died. There are a few hardy souls. The Misses Pritchard provide butter and eggs. Thomas Harvey slaughters a pig on occasion and most of the others who are left grow their own vegetables. The Muggles, of course, can drive somewhere for additional groceries but I have to make do with what's available locally. Where did you think we got eggs and bacon?'

'I didn't think,' Harry admitted. 'I'm pretty much used to food just appearing.'

After a bit, Harry asked, 'Why are you here?'

Snape grinned unpleasantly. 'The same reason you are. To kill one Severus Snape, Death Eater and murderer.'

'No, that's what you were doing when I got here but that's not _why_ you're here.'

'Quite simply, I had no place else to go. Other than losing myself on the continent, where else was I going to go? Back to Hogwarts? I might just as well have presented myself at the gates of Azkaban.'

'Thought it was something like that. Dumbledore was right. We've more in common than I ever would have expected.'

'Meaning?'

'You've got black hair and I've got black hair.'

'And?'

'You're bent and so am I.'

'And?'

'If it weren't for Hogwarts, I'd have no place to go,' Harry blurted.

'Don't be ridiculous, Potter. First, you _do_ have Hogwarts. Second, you have the Weasleys and Granger, and Lupin.'

Harry snorted in derision.

'Ah, the werewolf has fallen from the king's favour, has he? And what could Furface have done to incur your wrath?'

'Nothing. He didn't _do_ anything. And that's the whole point, isn't it? He never really does anything.'

'It's good to see the scales have fallen from your eyes on that topic. Now, if only we could accomplish the same thing in relation to-'

'Don't, Snape. If you say anything about my mother I'll punch you. Maybe this time I'll get lucky and break your nose. Which could only help.'

'Dumbledore,' Snape continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. 'As I was saying earlier, our situations are hardly parallel.'

'I don't have any friends,' Harry said softly. 'Not really. Ron and Hermione are practically joined at the hip. The twins died. Sirius. Dumbledore. I really don't have anyone anymore.'

'Then what will you do when your job here is done?'

'I don't know. I think maybe that's why I haven't got the job done yet.'

'I'm not completely enamoured of speaking of my death this way.' Snape hesitated. 'You don't have to do this, Potter. You've done enough. You don't owe anyone anything. Go live your life, and let me take care of my death.'

'Don't start. I made a promise to Dumbledore and I'm keeping it.'

'And yet here you are, all these many days later. You kept me from starving myself, when you could have let me die. I don't think you have it in you. You're not a murderer.'

Snape was baiting him, Harry thought, but he refused to rise to the bait. 'Don't worry. I think of something. I always do.'

'Usually to my detriment, as I recall.'

  


* * *

  
'I killed Albus Dumbledore but I did not murder him.' Snape said with exasperation.

'What are you saying? That you euthanised him?'

'He _wanted_ me to do it. We had, however distasteful to me, an agreement.'

'Right. Professor Dumbledore _made_ you kill him.'

'Albus made me do it the same way he made you give him the contents of the cup in the cave.'

'That's a different thing entirely.'

'No it isn't. It's the same thing exactly. You _knew_ it might kill him but he told you to do it and you did it.'

Harry thought about that for a moment, remembered his dream of Dumbledore laughing as he fell from the tower, and then shook his head. 'If you're innocent, prove it. Show me.'

'And how would you suggest I do that, Potter? Not to mention which, I never claimed innocence. I haven't been innocent since I was a child.'

'You know what I mean. Prove to me that Dumbledore wanted you to kill him, that you didn't do it for Voldemort. I can make a pensieve, I think I know how.'  
'Even if you did I could not put my memories in it. I have no magic left. Has that fact not yet pierced your thick skull?'

'Oh. Yeah. I was forgetting. Well, brew some Veritaserum then.'

Snape sighed in exasperation. 'What is it about 'no magic' you're not comprehending?'

'Then teach me to do it!'

'If in six years I was unable to pound into you the elemental fact that brewing potions requires magic, I certainly wouldn't be able to teach you to brew something as delicate as Veritaserum in a few days!'

'Well, _what_ then?'

'I'm afraid you'll just have to take my word for it.'

  


* * *

  
'Are the crows yours?'

'What crows?'

'The ravens. Everywhere I go there's ravens. Are they yours?'

'I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.'

Harry didn't want to believe him, but he did. Almost.

  


* * *

  
Harry poked his nose out from under the covers. Damn, it was cold! The last thing he wanted was to get out of bed in the middle of the night but he had drunk too many cups of tea before going to bed and now the need for a piss was fierce. He checked the time and groaned. Of course he had to wake up at three a.m., the coldest part of the night.

He stayed under the covers as long as he could bear it before throwing them back with a loud curse and jumping up. It only took him a fraction of a second to decide that the time it took for him to get dressed would only prolong the agony of being cold; he could get downstairs, piss, and be back under the covers in less time than it would take to get his trousers and shoes on. He cursed again when his feet hit the ice-cold floor and nearly skidded out of control as he raced through the doorway.

He took the stairs two at a time, not worrying about the noise, not caring about waking Snape, intent only on getting to the toilet as fast as possible. It took him several seconds to process what he saw when he threw the door open.  
'Oh god! Snape! Fuck, SNAPE!' Harry closed his eyes momentarily and clutched his fringe, desperately fighting back tears and the urge to run. 'What the fuck did you _do_? What the fuck have you done?'

He forced himself to take a deep breath and then another. He opened his eyes again and nothing had changed. Snape was in the bath, pale and still as swirls of crimson eddied in the water. One arm hung over the edge of the tub and a thick, steady drip of blood added to the pool already congealing on the floor. Harry jerked himself forwards, one painful step at a time. He felt as if he were moving slowly through some kind of thick sludge. 'Come on, Harry. This is no time to panic. Move! Move, damn it!' It seemed ages before he reached the tub. He steeled himself and looked down to see Snape's other arm under the water and the cloud of blood that was thickest around his limp hand.

The last time Harry had tried to pull the larger man from the bath, he'd been unable to do it. Emaciated as he was, he still weighed more than Harry and the slickness of his wet body had made him impossible to manage. But this time there was no other option. Harry _had_ to get him out of the water. He leant over the edge and pushed his arms under Snape's, locking his hands together over the bony sternum and heaved with everything he had. Snape's body inched upwards and then slipped a little. Harry tightened his grip and yanked again. His pulse raced, his heart pounded violently in his chest and he felt as if his lungs were being squeezed but with another desperate tug he had Snape up and balanced precariously on the rim. A gasp for breath and a last straining yank – and his feet slipped out from under him. He hit the floor hard, with ten stone of wet, naked, bloody ex-Potions master on top of him.

It took him several moments to regain his breath. When he could, he crawled out from under the dead weight. Struggling to his knees, he loomed over Snape, fist clenched and raised. 'You stupid, _stupid_ fuck! What were you thinking?'

Snape's head lolled sideways. 'Oh god. Oh god. Come on, Snape. Open your eyes. Breathe, damn you! Breathe!' Harry could feel the panic rising again. He tried to think what he should do first; bind Snape's wounds or try to resuscitate him? He dimly remembered reading somewhere that the brain could only go so long without oxygen. Was Snape actually not breathing? Or was it so shallow that it was just hard to tell.

'Think, Harry! Think!' He touched his hand to Snape's chest, thought he felt a slight tremor of movement. He pressed his cheek to Snape's slightly open mouth and felt the faintest whisper of air. 'Okay. Okay. He's breathing. Thank you, god. He's breathing. Okay. Breathe. Don't panic. You need to stop the bleeding. Blood-replenishing potion. Fuck!' As far as he knew there were no potions of any kind in the house. Harry searched his brain frantically, trying to remember spells that Madame Pomfrey had used after Harry's various injuries but his mind was blank. His fists were clenched and trembled violently as he tried to talk himself through the crisis. 'Stop the bleeding. Okay. Arms above the heart, yeah, arms above the heart and then um, a tourniquet. Okay. Good. Arms above the heart. Fuck! Think! You don't know the magic, so think like a Muggle! Towels. Good.'

Harry pulled and tugged and yanked Snape into a sitting position against the wall. He raised both the man's arms up high and pinned them against the wall with one hand while he scrabbled for a towel with the other. It took him precious moments to realise he would have to let Snape's arms down while he ripped the towel into strips. Two new pools of blood were formed as Snape's arms sagged limply. He had no idea where to apply the tourniquets so, taking no chances, he tied three on each arm; beneath the armpits, below the elbows, and right above the deep vertical slashes on each wrist. He stood up and grabbed another towel and used it to bandage the cuts. When he was done he looked at his handiwork, trying to gauge its effectiveness. When it was clear that the towel bandages weren't going to be immediately saturated with blood, he slumped to the floor, exhausted, and closed his eyes.

Minutes later he jumped when Snape moaned and then quickly knelt next to him. 'Come on, Snape. Open your eyes. That's good. That's good. Just a little more.'

'Potter ?' Snape whispered.

'That's right, Snape. You're going to be okay, you stupid. Fucking. Bastard. YOU BASTARD! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?'

'T'morrow,' Snape said tiredly. 'Let me sleep.' His lips were dry and white and the effort of moistening them with his tongue seemed to exhaust him. He closed his eyes.

'Fucking arsehole! I should make you talk right now. Keep you awake all night for what you just put me through.'

'Sleep,' Snape slurred.

Harry held him arms rigidly by his sides and clenched his fists. 'You'll have to wait a bit. I don't have my wand. I'll have to go get it. You're in no condition to walk.'

Snape's lip took a slight, upward curl. 'You're...nearly...naked. People...will...talk.'

'Shut up.'

'It...looks good...on you.'

'What the fuck? You just tried to kill yourself. You frightened me out of two years growth, which is not something I can afford, and you've left god only knows how much blood on the floor and in the bath. And you're choosing _now_ to come on to me again? You're mental.' Harry shook his head, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or beat Snape to death.

'Your...pants...are wet.' Snape tried to moisten his lips again. 'Like...a contest I...once...saw in...a club. The lad who won...had nothing on you.'

Harry tried to ignore him. 'I think we need to get you to a doctor. I think you've lost too much blood and you probably need to be stitched up. I can't do it.'

'No doctor,' Snape said.

'You don't have a bloody choice here. You need a doctor.'

'No. Get me to bed. You've stopped...the bleeding. The wounds...will close themselves.'

'Snape.'

'Bed, Potter. We'll talk...tomorrow. If my...wounds haven't closed...you can take me to the doctor then.'

'Swear?'

Snape huffed weakly. 'Swear.'

'Okay. I'll just go and get my wand, so I can levitate you. But first, I have to pee.'

  


* * *

  
'I don't care if you stink and your hair is greasy. I think the bathtub should be off limits to you from now on. You obviously can't be trusted to stay conscious in it.'

'Bugger off, Potter,' Snape said wearily. 'I need to sleep.'

'No. I want to look at your wrists. The bandages are bloody enough. I think we need to get you to a doctor.'

'No doctor.'

'Let me see them.'

Snape snarled and yanked at his bandages. Harry winced. If Snape wasn't careful he'd rip his own hand off.

'Stop! Let me do that. If the wounds are closed you'll just tear them open again.'

Snape was still snarling but he nodded and held a hand out. All the blood had drained from his face and perspiration stood out on his forehead.

'That hurt, didn't it? You stupid fuck.' Harry gently peeled the bandage off Snape's wrist. 'Well, hunh, you're right. Guess I'm not such an imbecile after all. _Reparo_ worked.'

'Only an imbecile would use a spell designed for repairing inanimate objects on a living subject.'

'You're just mad because I saved your life again.'

'I'm mad because I'm still alive. You, on the other hand, are simply mad. Why didn't you let me die?'

'Because knowing I'm going to kill you is the only thing that keeps me going.'

  


* * *

  
Snape was away for the first time, something about butter and eggs. Harry hesitated only long enough to make sure he'd passed through the gate before running upstairs to Snape's room.

It took him several frantic minutes of searching the wardrobe and bureau before he found Rufous hiding under Snape's pillow. Harry shook his head. Snape. Snape slept with a stuffed lion. Severus Snape slept with a stuffed lion and Harry Potter was going to kill him. Harry shrugged his shoulders. It seemed as reasonable as anything else in his life ever did.

Harry knelt down by the bed and held the lion in his hands. 'Hi, guy. Hey, Rufous. How're you doing? Miss me? Snape's not mistreating you, is he? OK. Well, I just wanted you to know that I didn't want Snape to take you but it wasn't my fault.'

'Potter,' came an exasperated voice from the hallway.

Harry's head sunk onto Snape's bed. 'I thought you were going to get eggs,' he mumbled through a mouthful of duvet.

'And you decided to take this opportunity to molest my lion?'

'I'm not molesting him! Why are we having this conversation? Look, I'm sorry I came into your room. I _know_ he's a stuffed lion. I just got in the habit of talking to him. Not like I had anyone else to converse with. I mean...before. And, I just missed him. I know it's stupid, so don't say anything. Please? Just don't.'

'I haven't any money.'

'What?'

'I came back because I realised I haven't any more money. I can't purchase eggs and butter with my charm. And you, in turn, will resist any witty rejoinder about my charm.'

'Or lack of it,' Harry and Snape said simultaneously.

Harry grinned.

'How'd you get the eggs last time, then?'

'The Misses Pritchard gave me credit as I had been ill, poor dear that I am. I would prefer not to remain in their debt.' Snape paused. 'Potter, if you won't allow me to suck your cock because it would give me pleasure, will you allow me to do it for money?'

'Ouch! That had to hurt.'

'Indeed. But the question stands.'

'This is a game to you, isn't it? I said it before – you think if I have sex with you I won't want to kill you. You're wrong. If anything, it will probably make me want to even more. I don't like playing games of this sort, Snape, but be warned, any game I play, I play to win.'

'Potter,' said Snape, gliding closer, 'shut up.' He took Harry's head in both his hands and tipped it up gently to kiss his forehead.

Harry shivered and didn't pull away. That was apparently all the encouragement Snape needed to kiss his eyes and his nose before moving down to his lips. He pushed his body against Harry's, driving him back by main force until the back of Harry's knees met the bed and he collapsed onto it.

'Oh fuck. Snape. Fuck. Oww!' Harry reached under himself and pulled out a slightly squashed lion. 'Rufous, damn it! Not now!'

'His name is Titus.'

'Whatever.'

'Say it. Call him by his real name. Titus.'

'Is this your idea of topping in bed? Because it's a bit weird.'

'Call him by his real name or I'll stop, Potter,' Snape said as he pushed the palm of his hand against the fly of Harry's jeans.

'Titus. Yeah. Fine. Right. Titus Andronicus. Not Rufous. Not a bit of it. Titus. I'll remember that. Titus.' Harry arched into Snape's hand.

'I believe I told you to shut up.' Snape slithered down Harry's body and fastened his mouth over the straining cock, breathing hot air through the thick denim. Which made Harry shiver.

'Definitely Titus.'

Snape sighed and then unceremoniously unfastened Harry's jeans and yanked them off his hips, tugging so roughly that Harry found himself momentarily balanced on his neck and shoulders before the weight of his legs righted him again. Without giving Harry time to recover, Snape was on him, taking as much of Harry's cock in his mouth as he could. Harry bucked once, screamed and came in several sharp bursts.

'Children,' Snape snarled as he rolled his eyes in annoyance. 'You couldn't have lasted at least sixty seconds?'

'Jesus,' Harry protested, 'I thought I'd better get off one last time before you cannibalised me.'

'Well, no surprise to me, I'm not satisfied. So let's just get you hard again, shall we? Let's use your youth constructively.'

And once again Snape was sliding his body over Harry's, kissing his way down Harry's neck, across his collarbone and down to his nipples. Harry was frightened and exhilarated. He was surprised at the gentleness of Snape's hands. The man's tongue might cut like a rapier but his hands were kind as he parted Harry's thighs and gently slid his cock between them. Harry closed his legs around Snape's cock and they rocked back and forth like that, Snape's penis sliding back and forth under Harry's balls, making him crazy with need.

'Let me,' Harry croaked. 'Let me.' He wrenched himself away from Snape, raising a gasp of pain when he didn't open his legs first. He moved so he could lick his way down Snape's belly, following the long dark line of hair from navel to groin, where he stopped and just panted for a moment, trying to steel his shattered nerves.

'Fuck. Don't you dare stop there, Potter. I'll have your fucking guts for garters if you stop now.'

Harry tilted his chin up, looking at Snape, his face flush and his eyes wide with dilated pupils. Without a word he dropped his head back down and took the head of Snape's cock in his mouth, working his tongue under the thick foreskin and teasing it across the winking slit at the tip. Snape groaned loudly and wrapped his hands in Harry's hair.

Harry panicked when Snape grabbed him by the ears and pulled him down at the same time as his cock pushed against the back of Harry's throat. It was too much. He could taste Snape and smell him and feel cock against tongue and hands against head. He thought he might be having a heart attack, so fiercely was his pulse pounding, so hard it was to catch a breath.

'Stop!' Harry yelled, jerking his head out of Snape's grasp. 'I don't want to play this game anymore.'  
'It's not a game, Potter.' Snape whispered, sliding down and wrapping both arms around Harry's chest. 'No games. We're just lonely, the pair of us. It's all right. No harm done, Harry. No game.'

'Let go of me, you bastard! Let go!' Harry tried to writhe out of Snape's arms.

'What are you so angry about, boy ?' Snape asked furiously as he relaxed his hold. 'Isn't this what you wanted?'

Harry rolled away and put his hands over his face, mumbling.

'I didn't understand you. Take your hands away from your face. You're not a child anymore. At least, theoretically.'

'I think I might be coming to care for you,' Harry repeated quietly.

'And why is that so horrible?'

'Why ?' Harry spluttered. 'Why? Because I'm here to kill you!'

'You don't have to honour that commitment, Potter. You can go away, leave me to do it myself. Are you afraid I won't?'

'No. I know you will but that won't satisfy the debt you owe.'

'I would rather not owe you at all, for killing me or for allowing me to kill myself. Just go away, Potter. Let it end right now.'

'You already owe me.' Harry laughed bitterly. 'And it doesn't matter anyway, does it? You'll be dead and you won't have to pay. But I deserve to get a little something out of it.'

Snape looked warily at Harry and slowly rose up off the bed. His erection, which had been so noticeable just seconds before, had collapsed completely. Naked, he looked extremely vulnerable. But he didn't look the least bit scared, which pissed Harry off.

Harry snatched his wand from the bedside table and pointed it at Snape. '_Crucio!_'

Snape arched backwards and then fell in a heap to the floor, writhing and screaming.

'_Finite Incantatum!_' Harry yelled. When Snape had stopped moving Harry pointed his wand again. 'Beg me, Snape. Beg me not to kill you.'

'No.'

'_Crucio!_ Come on, Snape. Beg me not to kill you and I'll stop.'

As soon as he was able, Snape gasped, 'No!' once again. 'You don't have to do this, Potter.'

'Yes, I do. Beg me.'

'I could love you.'

'Beg me!' Harry demanded.

'No,' Snape said again in a shaky voice.

'_Crucio!_ I can do this all night. Can you? Beg me not to kill you.'

'Could love you,' Snape panted.

'So what?' Harry screamed. 'My mother loved me and where's she? Where's Dumbledore? Where's Sirius? Why should you be any different ?' Harry raised his wand again.

'Potter, don't.'

'Is that begging I hear? Are you begging me not to kill you?'

'Don't do it, Harry.' Snape held his hands up as if to ward off a blow. No use against an Unforgivable.

'_Avada Kedavra!_' Harry choked out the killing curse and Snape collapsed in an aura of green light.

'I win, Snape,' Harry gasped. 'I win.'

 

**~Fin~**


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